A Stay in Insanity
by Only in a Dancing God
Summary: Arthur, a newly diagnosed schizophrenic, is shipped away by his family to Hetalia Residential. Here he meets the selective mute Alfred, and a romance quickly blossoms. Will the two young men survive their own insanities and those of their associates long enough to make it work?
1. Chapter 1

**_Author Note: Hello, and welcome to my first published fanfiction! I've finally written something I feel worthy of posting here, and you've no idea the pleasure that writing this note brings me. This work, while it contains no OCs or self inserts, is semi-autobiographical. A little over one year ago, I was placed in residential treatment for eleven days due to my suicide attempts and depression._ _My sister is schizophrenic. This fanfiction, while being an ode to the fabulous relationship of Arthur Kirkland and Alfred F. Jones, is also an ode to how far we've come in the past year._**

**_Other things which inspired this work: Listen to Your Heart by DHT, Mad World by Gary Jules, and the fabulous movie and book One Flew over the Cuckoos Nest_**

**_Warnings: Adult themes and content, strong language, Hetalia AU, some out of characterness because the plot requires it_**

**_Pairings: Main USUK, with some LietPol, GerItalia, and PruCan on the side. _**

* * *

_Dear Peter, _

_As you may be aware, I, your older brother, Arthur Kirkland, have been shipped to the nut house to be 'cured' of my insanity. Please do not think any less of me-though that would be miraculous since you hate me-because of this flaw in my character. Mum, who died of suicide by electrocution a year after your birth, was also insane, so it's not shocking that I, the Kirkland heir most similar to her, am as well. I know we do not understand each other well, but I feel obligated to write home and contrary to popular belief, I hate you least. _

_I__'ve always been considered odd. I was that child who sat in the corner in primary school, the child whose best friends were either in books or in my head, the child who at the age of six was reading Dickens for fun. Factor in my unusually distinctive eyebrows, jade green eyes, slight build, closeted sexuality, and British accent, and it's not hard to see how Fairy-King Arthur became my title. But personally, I always saw it differently: they were all crazy and I was the sane one. Funny how very wrong I turned out to be. _

_Talking to Captain Hook at the age of four is one thing. Talking to him-and more importantly, him talking back-at the age of twenty-three is an entirely different matter. Especially when your stupid frog boyfriend finds you explaining your relationship problems to the 'imaginary man' and decides to turn you in to the authorities. Then the authorities look at your track record, and they see that you've 'fallen' down flights of stairs despite the fact you are a ballet dancer. And they see that you 'accidently' burnt yourself whilst making tea, despite the fact you've been doing it since you were a lad. But most importantly they see the alcoholism. And suddenly, their voices grow hushed and the looks they send in your direction become tentative. And one word, one blasted word which hounded your mother to her death, is whispered: Schizophrenia. _

_Apparently, my abusive personality stems from something other than me being an arse after all. Turns out, I'm loony. I guess that explains why I wonder constantly what will happen when the moon falls into the ocean and Atlantis rises once more. As soon as the family heard I was the same sort of nut as mum, they made an executive decision and shipped me off here, to Hetalia Residential. I've learnt all sorts of things in the past one hour, twenty-three minutes, and thirty seven seconds that I've spent here, getting checked in, perhaps indefinitely. For example, when the large Russian nurse suggests you give up your cherry red Doc Martens because you might kill yourself with the laces, he's bloody serious. Ivan, as it turned out the nurse's name is, is perhaps the most daunting…thing I've ever witnessed in my entire existence. There is something so fundamentally off in his sadistic, child-like smile that it sends a cold snake directly down my spine. _

_I lie here in my new bed, which lacks a pillow because I've yet to earn one, writing this by the light of a humming ceiling lamp, waiting for my roommate to return from supper so that I may meet him. I've been told his name is Alfred. No other information has been released as of yet, but Alfred sounds a reasonable enough name. God, I hope he's at least as crazy as I. Ah, I hear his footsteps now! God, he sounds to be a galumphing oaf with those obnoxious stomps! _

_Goodnight Peter _

_Postal Script: I do believe I will write some more to you later, but for now, I must hide this document from the ogre I will apparently be rooming with. _

* * *

**Hero's log:**

So apparently, I'm getting a new roommate today since Kiku….Anyways, I've been told his name: Arthur, and obviously I know his gender: male. But I also managed to get some information out of Ivan. He's a newly diagnosed schizophrenic, twenty-three years of age, British with a cute accent, and some very memorable eyebrows…whatever that means. I retain my vow of silence in Kiku's honor, so I'm not going to speak to him.

Right now, I'm supposed to be eating dinner, but I'm never hungry these days, so I gave it to Toris, who tried to get Feliks to eat something, anything. Course, it didn't work, because while weighing in at only ninety pounds, Feliks thinks he's orca fat. Reflecting on my day, I guess things aren't as bad as they once appeared to be here. I've got Toris and Gilbert. I'm Ivan's favorite patient for some odd reason. Yet still, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had. Don't these people realize that they're just milling about in these little circles? I'm still afraid of the day when we run out of words and all we'll have left is tears to fill our cups. I'm slowly drowning in my sorrow. But it feels so…correct.

Mattie came and visited, brought that stupid stuffed bear I gave him years ago, like always. I wish Matt's love was enough, I really do. He's the best damn brother/sidekick a hero could ask for. But since I'm a selfish bastard, it's not enough for me. I'm an observer, but never a player for life. Matt cried today, always does though. I want to be happy, for his sake, but I'm incapable. Today, he asked me 'Al, why can't you return to the days when you smiled and laughed and were…glad?' I wanted to sob, shake him, tell him I'd never been happy, that it was a farce. But I remain bound to my undertaking. I'm the hero. I will live up to that, so help me God.

If I go crazy and go back to pretending, I hope I die. Maybe I should cut fate's thread before that happens, so that I may remain the champion. I guess finishing my degree is entirely out of the question now. Oh well…can't be helped I suppose. I saw fireworks last night, out my window. It reminded me of my birthday all those years ago when Mattie and I snuck out to honor my country's birthday with our first bottles of beer; born on the Fourth of July.

Matthew had me play the piano for everyone today. Said it reminded him of when I was okay, but I never was, was I? I played Chopin. I often express my emotions through my music. Actually it might be the only truth I've ever told other than my silence. I wish I had someone to sing for me. Nothing can touch me anymore, but did it ever? I don't want to die, yet I always wish I'd never been born, at all. The world around me melts into a quiet nothingness. Yet I am indifferent. Toris is indifferent to my silence. I doubt Gilbert has noticed at all. Feliks frankly doesn't give a damn as long as I keep my mitts off Toris. Toris isn't my type anyways. Too…feminine and brunette. I wonder who tops. They both look like women. Feliks is the one in a skirt, but Toris is far more submissive. They must take turns. I bet Ivan listens. Ivan's a sick piece of work. God really missed the mark there. The poor bastard has no soul. Every time I reach, it slips through my fingers and laughs at my dreams and plans.

Time to go upstairs and get ready for bed. Time to meet Artie, as I've decided to call Arthur. Not that he can hear my thoughts. I hope. There is no human decency. Life is a series of lies.

To sleep, perchance to dream of dying.

Love,

Alfred

* * *

_Dear Peter,_

_He's a bloody selective mute. Alfred hasn't spoken since his last roommate left, actually. I'm not that peculiar. This makes me cheerier than it should. I'm a terrible person. How are things? I hope that the terrible triad of older brothers hasn't killed you or anything yet. My only wish is that when and if I give you these letters, you'll see I'm not what they say I am. They're saying that denial is one of the five stages of grief. Fuck them. I'm not round the twist or barmy or nuts or anything!_

_I don't belong here. There's a boy who thinks he's a girl, for Christ's sake! Actually Feliks has been rather pleasant to me, ever since I promised to 'back off his man, Toris.' I'm guessing that a lot of the men here are blatant homosexuals by necessity. I wonder about Alfred. He doesn't speak, so I can't tell. My money's on bisexual though. He stares at me often. I would mind, but his eyes are the most stunning shade of blue imaginable. Like a little piece of heaven fell down and landed in his sparkling orbs. He's really quite cute. I just have a hard time believing that anyone as young and beautiful as he could be so quiet. Seriously, I've been here six days and the closest he's come to speaking with me is a small smile. Ah, but what a smile…_

_My day here consists of group therapy, one on one therapy, medications, art therapy, meals, and a small amount of structured free time. I like art therapy. They let __me write and draw. I drew a picture of us. We were dead. But we were with mum. She was smiling. Dad and our monster brothers were dead, but they were in Hell, their skin melting away in the vast heat. Mr. Yao, the art therapist, saw it. He gave it to Ivan. Ivan put it in my file. I cried. Maybe they are right. Did you know that my lifespan is probably about fifteen years shorter because of my diagnosis? I mostly cry at night, but sometimes I will just be talking and the floodgates will open and I am powerless to stop the tears gushing out. _

_In free time, we have a video game player-thing, I don't know which one. But it has several of those singing games where one person pretends to play guitar with a stupid little remote. Anyways, Feliks was singing Bohemian Rhapsody, but he was doing it all wrong. So I stole the microphone and did Freddy Mercury proud. And they all stood and clapped, for me, Alfred too. He beamed at me. So I volunteered to be permanent singer for the games. It made me feel something other than nil. _

_Everything is a fucking symptom here. Every choice I make is scrutinized. It's so…1984. But I digress. Tomorrow is visiting day and you are the only one on my list. I thank you for that. Alfred has someone named Matthew Williams. I hope it's not a boyfriend. I do not think I will give you these letters, but I will still address them to you because of your youthful je ne sais quoi. I miss my daily tea (and alcohol). I miss mum. I miss the lack of stigmas. I miss you. I'll never get another job now, and I'll be lucky if the library hires me again. Also Francis left a message, something about 'never wanting to hear from me again, because it is better that way, non?' French Bastard…_

_Goodnight Peter_

* * *

**Hero's log:**

I like Artie. He's pretty and smart and his voice is like a fucking angel's. He made me smile. I can't help but fall for him a little every day. In another universe, we're together, we're happy. He returns my affections. He writes me poetry. I play piano for him. We make love often. In an entirely different universe, I never meet Artie. In that universe, I am dead. I'd let the rest of the world turn to dust just to be with him. He feels me somehow. I know it. The world is dead. I can't save it. But I can save Artie, and we can be each other's world.

Our souls are made of the same stuff. He sees words the way I see music. He drew his family. It was so vivid and true I had to excuse myself to cry. When I came back, he was in hysterics; Ivan had stolen it. A surge of white hot heat filled my being in that instant. I'm going to keep Ivan away from Artie no matter the cost. I've walked across an empty land; I know it because it is my soul. Then God gave me light. The light's name is Arthur.

Tomorrow Matthew comes to visit. Maybe he will insist I play. I know what songs I will play to woo Artie. He will know they are for him and he will love me. We will escape in each other's arms and face the ruins of civilization hand in hand. I want to kiss him. He has nice lips, they are soft and pink. I often stare at him unabashedly. His eyes are greener than anything I've ever seen before. He stares back. God wrote me this play, and it turns out, the play is not about me. It's about my love with Artie. Every logical part of my brain is telling me I've fallen far too far, far too quickly. But for the first time in my entire existence, I feel real, whole, and happy. I am no longer a shell. I heard Mr. Yao make a nasty comment about my love's enormous eyebrows. I tripped him while he was holding a wet painting. I laughed. Arthur smirked. A secret was shared between us.

For the first time in days, I wasn't Anhedonic. I felt pleasure. It coursed through my veins far quicker than any drug. I need Arthur. He turns my indifference into concern. I love his bushy brows. I love his entirety.

I belong.

Love,

Alfred


	2. Chapter 2

**_Author Note: A special shout of thanks to USUKismyOTP, Eternally1Yours, and Anayuki for being my first ever reviewers as well as to anyone else who read the first chapter. That being said, here is chapter two, which is slightly shorter. _**

* * *

_Dear Peter, _

_Alfred is amazing. He plays the piano. You had already left by the time he started playing, but he made me believe in goodness once again. He played my favorite song. I sang it with him. Matthew is his half-brother. Mattie, as he prefers to be called, sobbed when Alfred and I performed together. Said he'd never seen his brother so happy. For some inexplicable reason, that didn't matter half so much as the twinkle in Alfred's eyes. I want that twinkle to be an omnipresent source of joy in my existence. _

_I sound like a sap. But if love existed and I was capable of it, I'd have it for Alfred. I've known him only a very short time, but every instance our eyes meet, our most personal secrets come to light. I want to thank him. I want to give him a drawing. I don't know what to draw. I want to give him a poem. For once, I don't know what to write. I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, but with Alfred I shall fear no evil. _

_I hold on nervously, my heart pounds. I've never felt these things before. I might be capable of emotions after all. I'm not blind, Alfred has faults. Nor do I choose to close my eyes. Alfred is human, perfectly human and if he was any different in even the slightest of ways, I wouldn't love him. Love. I wrote love. Heh, it's interesting how a short stay in the funny farm can show you what a lifetime never could. To ease my troubled mind, I will let the world drift far, far away, until I am alone in the universe. Alone except for Alfred, of course. I am the Cathy to his Heathcliff. I hope he sees it too. I thank all gods that they sent me here. _

_I no longer wish for anything other than Alfred. _

_Goodnight Peter_

* * *

**Hero's log: **

He sang with me last visiting day. Arthur sang "Listen to Your Heart" with me; told me it was his favorite song. His voice is like a bell, clear and true in the crisp air conditioning. It's our song now. Maybe it always was. Arthur is my heart. I will never let him go. Somehow, we will find each other after we are released. Celestial intervention must have brought us here at the same time. I want his soul. We belong to each other. I want him to hear me, but I think he already does. He sings often now. He talks to me at night. I never believed in magic until he spun me the lore of his life. I don't think he's crazy. I read a book when I was younger about multiple universes. I think Arthur lives in two universes.

His stories are works of art. He told me the tale of a princess who had to save her true love from a troll who lived east of the sun and west of the moon. Arthur is my princess. He saved me. I love him for it. He cast off my curse and brought me back. Unlike the princess of the story, Arthur will never doubt me. It's not in his nature. His best friend is Flying Mint Bunny. I cannot see Flying Mint Bunny. My best friend is Arthur. He cannot see the Arthur I see. He thinks he is ugly. He is wrong. I love him for his soul, but his willowy figure and entrancing eyes are still exquisite. If you have ever seen a piece of green sea-glass, imagine it a thousand times brighter and lovelier. You are nowhere near approaching the simplistic beauty of his eyes. He believes their lies about him, but never about me. He listens when they call him schizophrenic, but when Ivan even eyes me in a way which may imply that what I did was the smallest fraction away from normal, he tries to summon demons. Ivan is the only demon here.

If anyone could be a hero, it would be Artie. He hides behind this front, but he's the most fragile person I've ever known. He's a thin sheet of stained glass. I bet he would be cute in spectacles. He says I look cute in them because they enhance my eyes, which are what he finds most beautiful about me, other than my soul. They decided to increase Arthur's meds because Ivan caught him playing with his fairies. He drew them for me, but Ivan found the pictures and put them in his file. I hate Ivan. He makes Arthur cry. He used to make me cry, but no longer. Usually I feel nothing. For Ivan, I've always felt rage. The only other people who make me feel are Mattie and Artie. Hate and love aren't as different as we all seem to think.

Paralytic dreams begin to traipse through my mind, but not inhibiting ones.

Love,

Alfred

* * *

_Dear Peter, _

_I would have never found the truths that being with Alfred has shown me. I really do not mind what happens anymore, as long as at the end of the day he is the one holding my hand. I take for granted what little freedoms I have. I abuse the systems of power. Ivan looked at Alfred funny. I cursed Ivan and his children and their children. Dad died two days ago. They haven't told me if I can go to the funeral yet. I pray to God they say I cannot. He left a large sum to me and to you. Our brothers got none because they did not need it._

_Francis called when he heard the news about the money. Apparently he's more of an idiot than I thought. I told him that my fay friends said I wasn't to talk to him ever again. Ivan overheard. He upped my doses again. I feel like I'm drowning in the thickest of quagmires sometimes, that is how clouded my thoughts are thanks to these damned anti-seizure meds which apparently treat my illness. Alfred worries about me. I tell him I am fine. When I am with him, I am. _

_Matthew talks to me very often. He's a sweet person, but not my Alfred. He is infatuated with Alfred's chum Gilbert. He eyed him the entire time he was here. I told him that you only live once then Alfred and I squeezed each other's hands. He blushed profusely and shook his head but then went and talked to Gilbert anyways. Toris' adopted brothers came and saw him. They were very jealous of how much attention Toris showered on Feliks. _

_The directors, Feliciano and Lovino, two brothers, came and ate lunch with us and our visitors today. We also got to go outside for an hour. It was a good day. The sun was shining it reminded me of when I was very young and it was okay to be abnormal. I only cried twice. Alfred cradled me. I drew a picture of Alfred and myself at the zoo. We were in a cage. They were pointing and laughing at us, but we grew fiery wings and flew away, leaving them in ash. Ivan found it and told the doctors. They sighed. I don't understand why they have me draw things just to steal them away. I'm looking in at the world from some other universe. The best thing about Alfred is his soul is ugly in the exact same way mine is. I want to hear his voice, it is heroic and angelic. _

_I have faith tonight. _

_Goodnight Peter_

* * *

**Hero's log: **

Every now and then I think of the day I realized that I could stop pretending. It was a warm summer's day. Even less often I think of the day I realized that I could end it and nothing would change. I was wrong. I am so grateful that I didn't succeed in my attempts. Arthur finishes my soul. The red string of fate links us stronger than any chain. Matthew is happy for me. He talked to Gilbert. They balance each other, like Toris and Feliks do. I hope that Mattie and Gil learn to be happy in each other. Arthur and I, we are a different sort of lovers. We are different as night and day on the outside, and physically we have two bodies, but spiritually, we have only one soul. The stars are pinpricks of hope tonight, lighting up our room. I still haven't said a word to Artie. I don't remember how to talk anymore, but maybe Artie can help me relearn.

I met Arthur's little brother, Peter. Arthur says he can't stand Peter. He is lying. The look in his eyes when he stares at that boy rivals the one he gives me. Arthur's dad died. Arthur hated his father. I hope that bastard goes to hell for ever making Arthur sad. Arthur is my home now. I never need to leave. They will separate us eventually, I know it, but we will find each other. The course of true love never did run smooth. I still worry about losing myself, but I don't doubt that he will find me if I do. I feel when I am around him. When I am away, there is nothing. All these words I can't just say to him, I tell him with my eyes.

I love Arthur Kirkland. I love him to the end of the universe and back. Where else am I going to find a guy who hates all the same things I do?

Love,

Alfred

* * *

_Dear Peter, _

_I've become accustomed to my existence here. Each and every detail of my life is fine-tuned into a mechanical monotony. I have to eat, sleep, and breathe on their schedule. This kind of psychological grooming hurts Alfred and me. We are birds in an un-gilded cage. There are no pretentions of comfort here. But it does not affect me any longer. I rise above it, a phoenix. It used to hurt my soul. My soul is now impenetrable, thanks to Alfred, my dear heart. On the other side of my reality, the one they claim isn't there, things are peachy as well. The fay never did approve of Francis. He only liked my body. I loved him. That love was a sham compared to my emotions for Alfred. I know that nobody knows him like I do, despite the fact we've never actually spoken. _

_Soul mates: we are soul mates. Humans originally had four arms, four legs, and a single head made of two faces, but the Gods, fearing their power, split them all in half, condemning them to spend their lives searching for the other half to complete them. Alfred and I circumvented this fate. We will write our own destiny, twine our own thread, Norns be dammed. Alfred and I will cut our own string, on our own terms. A lullaby is playing on Antonio's CD player. He's the nicest of the staff. I hate him. He's clearly unhappy, yet he acts chipper and grand all the fucking time. Is everyone here in some sort of relationship? I think it is because the laws of society no longer apply once you pass through the door into Hetalia Residential Treatment Center. I've realized that curing my 'insanity' might wipe away all that makes me be me. I accept this. Alfred will never let it happen. I'm okay. _

_No matter how many drugs they give me, I will never change. And tomorrow, I'll be okay. _

_Goodnight Peter_


	3. Chapter 3

_**I can't thank the people who review enough! I'm seriously overjoyed at the reception that this is getting. On another note, I will be attending summer camp for the first three weeks of June. This means no internet access, meaning no updates. I will however have access to a pen and paper, meaning I will keep writing. So expect another chapter between now and the third of June, when I leave, and more chapters when I return. **_

_**Thank you for your suport and patience!**_

_**-Only in a Dancing God **_

* * *

**Hero's log:**

I can only imagine what our lives will be like when we've been released from this hellhole. Arthur was a children's librarian and had a degree in English prior to his diagnosis. I was a full time student, getting my degree in architecture. I doubt we will get our old lives back. But we will have each other. If I lost him, my heart would go on, but it would no longer be human. They say if you stare into the abyss long enough, it stares back. Our love is in that abyss.

I ought to lie and speak again, so we can get the Hell out of here. I will never commit that sacrilege. I told myself that everyone I'd been with previously was right for me, but I always still felt lonely. I am addicted to being around Arthur. There is no other description that does justice to how much I need and adore him. When I used to do drugs, the craving was the most intense thing I've ever felt. Now that feeling has been replaced by Arthur.

I don't want to feed into their bullshit. No one knows me but Artie, so I wish they would stop pretending. Mattie says people look right through him and they see me. He is wrong; they see what they want to see when they look at me. I love to play piano. People look at me and they see some sort of jock. I am good at sports, but my passions are music and thinking and architecture. I want to build a monument to humanity. It would be the most complex building. One side would be beautiful. The other side would be hideous.

I think I am dreaming all the time now. I'm not. Arthur is as real as the hole in my heart used to be. Reality used to bring me to my knees. I would beg in vain for sweet, merciful relief. A bullet, a rope, a knife. No longer do I cry my insecurities. They are irrelevant.

I've always wanted to fly. I can now.

Love,

Alfred.

* * *

_Dear Peter,_

_Mother used to tell me that someday I would find true love, but only when I learned to love myself. I loved mother, but she was wrong. I learned to love myself after Alfred loved me. Maybe it works both ways. Maybe…_

_I try to spend an hour a day assuming that something other people assume is incorrect is correct. I made the mistake of telling Antonio. He told Ivan. Ivan switched my meds. I wish he would just let me think clearly. I hate the murk that my mind has become. _

_Ivan says my thinking has never been clear. He tells me that nothing I perceive is correct. He is wrong. We all exist on our own individual plane of existence. Each of us sees the world differently because we all live in different worlds. I told Alfred this. He shook his head. He put my hand on his heart and vice versa. He smiled._

_I remember when time began to blur for me. It was the summer I turned nineteen. It was the summer I met Francis, my first love. I remember how he made me feel lonelier in his presence than I ever did by myself. Truth was something I searched for, but never found. I've found it._

_The doctors say I'm not making progress. They don't see that there's no progress to make. I'm fine. _

_Goodnight Peter_

* * *

**Hero's log: **

Matthew isn't telling me something. He's spending a lot of time with Gilbert. They look much happier when they are together. But in his eyes, a secret lurks. I miss him, but not enough to speak and ask him. If I speak, I could lose Arthur. I'd rather lose myself than Arthur, but maybe losing Arthur would mean losing me.

Sleep was a mercy when I was alone. Now it is a separation of Arthur and I, save for dreams. In dreams, we are always together.

Love,

Alfred

* * *

_Dear Peter, _

_I'm glad you and Alfred get on so well. It means the world to me. You two are the only ones I'll ever love. They told me today that I couldn't attend dad's funeral. I cheered. Alfred smiled. Ivan shook his head and took away my pillow. _

_After we make love, Alfred's cerulean orbs gaze at me tenderly. I've never feel as whole as I do afterwards, when he brushes my bangs out of my eyes and kisses my entire face gently. He lets me know how much he loves me in the little things. He likes to hold my hand and squeeze it gently._

_Everyone here is either an idiot or they refuse to see. The world could fall tomorrow and no one here would notice until we ran out of food. We are on an island. We disappear from the outside world's consciousness. I once dreamed we did. It was the same. But was that just a dream? _

_You should visit more often. I feel closer to you now that I only see you once a week or so than I ever did while we lived in the same house. How are you really?_

_I stand behind the curtains, maneuvering the scenery. What we perceive to be real can be false. Emotions are true. _

_Goodnight Peter_

* * *

**Hero's log:**

I feel, therefor I am. That is what he should have said. Thoughts are nothing without emotions. Emotions and dreams are all we have. Arthur is my emotional sphere. He is all I ever wanted and more. I've had boyfriends before. Hell, I've had girlfriends too. But never before did nothing else matter.

I hate how Ivan thinks he owns the place simply because the directors and doctors are too scared and spineless to stand up to him. Life is supposed to be ours, to live our way. Here, it is Ivan's, except for our love, our act of defiance.

In a book I once read, the only thing you were allowed to love was the government. Ivan is our government. Ivan is the darkest piece of humanity. He is the devil personified. His laughter can be heard throughout the halls.

God is dead and we have killed him. I'd rather it be God than Arthur.

Love,

Alfred

* * *

_Dear Peter, _

_I feel sick as a dog. These meds have me vomiting profusely, and often. I hate it. I'd rather be crazy than ill. Alfred holds my hand and doesn't let any of the staff touch me. I feel safe. I feel loved. I am no longer aware of how long I've been here. It no longer matters to me. _

_Life is like a song on the breeze, you are not aware of it passing, yet later you will be humming that tune. I wish we were able to understand our reality is nothing more than perception and awareness. I wish we could see how our thoughts are just as mighty as our words and actions. _

_I can't help but fall deeper into the abyss of our love. I love each second of it. I cherish Alfred above all else. He is my salvation. My cornerstone. My immortal piece. I need him more than oxygen. I love him more than ought to be legal._

_Place the one you love above all else. _

_Goodnight Peter_

* * *

**Hero's log:**

I watched the outside world through my window. It seems a lovely place. Mom never visits me, only Matthew. It feels like I'm running in place sometimes. Nothing ever changes. The outside is so…different from us. They have these rules that have to be followed. We have rules too. But they are not the same. There are not expectations for crazy people.

Ivan likes to laugh and call me verbose. Arthur got mad and said I could say more with one glance than Ivan could say with a thousand words of his garbled English. Ivan smiled and sighed, taking more notes on Arthur's chart and muttering something about how it was a shame that America no longer condoned lobotomy. I bit my lip and Arthur cried. The hate I felt at that moment has no rival.

Arthur and I are an entity. We heal each other. He's everything I could ever want. He's all I need and more. They pulled me aside yesterday, while Arthur was sleeping; told me that other than the fact I was mute, they had 'cured' me. If I speak, they will release me. They're idiots for thinking I'd betray him like that. Besides, right now, he needs me more than I need him. And I will be there for him, cross my heart and hope to die.

Arthur is my sole motivation.

Love,

Alfred

* * *

_Dear Peter, _

_Last night, I had a talk with Alfred. If I pretend, they will release me. I wanted to know if he would support that. He smiled sadly and looked at me. He's right, it's my decision. I need to know why Alfred doesn't talk. I must understand. So I asked Toris. All he would tell me was that it was in remembrance of his previous roommate, Kiku. I cried. How Alfred-like to be so self-sacrificing. Then Toris told me something that both broke and mended my heart: they were willing to release Alfred, if he spoke. He's not speaking for my sake. _

_I cried for the entire hour that Alfred had personal therapy. I had no idea, yet I knew all along, didn't I? I'm going to do it. I will pretend, for Alfred's sake. He deserves normality. _

_I wonder what happened to Kiku…_

_Goodnight Peter_

* * *

**Hero's log:**

Something is terribly amiss. Arthur has been broken. He is cheerful and pleasant. I miss the old him. Also Matthew looks sickly. I am, god help me, terrified. What if Arthur isn't acting…what if Matthew dies? I can't lose either of them. Not now, not ever; I need them. I should talk so Matthew will tell me who is hurting him. I still won't betray my Arthur like that.

Heroes are not supposed to be terrified. They serve to help the weak. But now, I feel weak. God, if you exist, please hear me. I have never doubted before. Now I doubt. Help me not to fear so that I may remain the hero. That is all I ask.

We're all living, with the same equalizing end goal: death.

Love,

Alfred

* * *

_Dear Peter,_

_Alfred is quite dense sometimes. He doesn't see I've given up to save him. But it's not over. I'm still me inside. I'll go back to being me the instant these fools release me. I'm trying to do right by him damn it! Can't he see that? _

_This love might kill us both yet. But still, he's the only one. I need to be around him. I can never go back from this emotion. My range of emotions has grown tenfold since I met him. I can't lose him or how he makes me feel._

_It's not enough to tell him I'm sorry. I can do this. But at what cost? I pray to all deities that this plan succeeds swiftly. _

_Goodnight Peter_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Here it is, the last chapter before my three week hiatus. Once again, thanks to my critics, reviewers, and anyone who's read the story.  
**_

_**-Only in a Dancing God**_

* * *

**Hero's log:**

Here I go again, falling slowly into 'sanity', like the fool I've always been. I wake up in the middle of the night, a cold sweat drenching my frame. I'm…Afraid? Give me a sign that this will turn out right. Any sign at all. I wish I could tell what the hell Arthur was doing. At night, under the cloak of the sweet stars, Arthur is my lover, my confidant, my friend. In the day, while the sun shines strong, Arthur is just a submissive, spineless stranger. I should talk.

No! I will not betray Kiku. He stuck to his guns, and they killed him for it. I stand in defiance of that injustice. Taking a chance on people-putting your emotions out there on the line-is a risky gamble. Life is pain. If you're alive, you're going to get hurt. A lot. And often. By the people you care about most. Arthur and I swore on our souls we would never do that to each other. I saw it in his eyes, his beautiful sea glass eyes. So he must be trying to save me…right?

Who doesn't lie to advance their own selfish wants?

Love,

Alfred

* * *

_Dear Peter, _

_I'm living an honest lie. I'd do it again and again for Alfred, a thousand times over. I love him farther than the expanding, limitless universe (or universes). I love him deeper than the depths of Tartarus. I dream of sweet freedom. I will take Alfred home with me, since the house is mine now that Dad is dead. You will live with us. We will be a happy little family, what I wanted but never got. It will be the rest we've always searched for. _

_An ache here or there, occasional nausea, very blurred vision. My symptoms grow exponentially. I swear to everything and anything that I will never take medications after I leave this accursed place. Matthew reeks of alcohol. Alfred is too thick to see it. Why must the world corrupt the most beautiful things? Innocence is shattered. Hearts are broken. _

_My payback for being selfish is that I love the most selfless person imaginable._

_Goodnight Peter_

* * *

**Hero's log: **

I hate what Arthur is becoming. Where is the foul mouthed rebel I grew to love? I will never give up on him. It has to be a ploy, a farce, a ruse. I'm so scared. Paranoia seeps into my veins. Words ricochet off of me. I'm invincible-unbreakable-because I've already failed. If I can't bring Arthur back…I'll go crazy. Or is it sane? Sanity is opposite insanity.

My love for Artie cannot, will not sputter out. Our flame is eternal. They can scoff and laugh and shoot us down, we will ascend above their foolish accusations. In the end, nothing matters but getting out alive. The only way I can do that is by rescuing Artie. No matter how I try, it all falls down. When I was little, I built my first monument. It was beautiful. It burned to the ground.

I've had too far to go in so little time. Give me a sign Arthur; I need to believe in something.

Love,

Alfred

* * *

_Dear Peter,_

_I'm taking a moment to assess my sins and atone for them. I apologize for my betrayals; I acted only to preserve Alfred. I plead for forgiveness for the times I've made him cry. That stupid boy...I'm bloody saving us. He needs to speak soon, or they won't release us at the same time. I should speak now, tell him of my plan. I am afraid to do so. What if Ivan hears; he's always listening…Always. God save us. _

_Please, keep your head up Alfred. I'm so close, yet still so far from our freedom. I can taste it. I love how Alfred is not okay because I am not okay. It proves we are mere extensions of a single soul. _

_I have confidence in our salvation. I do not have confidence that our salvation is of earth. Perhaps the only way for us to be saved is for us to leave…?_

_Goodnight Peter_

* * *

**Hero's log:**

I'm lying in bed. It is cold. Arthur is talking to the head doctor. I can't stop the tears. I hurt. I'm scared. Make it stop. Matthew didn't come in today. I don't understand. He's never even been late. Gilbert lost it and they sent him to the isolation room. I've been there. The room is white. The floor is hard. The walls are soft. It hurts my brain to think about. I miss Kiku. He was a good friend.

Ivan is an omnipresent force of evil. He over-dosed Kiku. They said it was suicide, that he did it to himself. He didn't. I know it. I'm sane. They're crazy. I've come too far to turn back now. I must persevere and succeed, for Artie. I don't want to live if we aren't free. I'm scared of these thoughts. I'm scared of a lot of things. But I'm the hero. So I lie. Honestly, I'm a hypocrite. I hate them for living lies, but it's better that way; it hurts far less. The only person who appreciated my honest silence was Arthur. Does he still?

I'm not sure how long I can take being here. I feel like signing the closing remarks on the letter of my life. Hope keeps me alive. They say Hope is a thing with feathers. Where are my wings, so that I might save myself?

If you can hear me, hear me now: I don't understand, and that petrifies me.

Love,

Alfred

* * *

_Dear Peter, _

_Ivan knows. I was so close. But it's never enough, nothing ever is. I don't want to be seen. I'm a wretch. I'm broke, shattered. I cried after lunch in my room and I looked up and he was standing there, in the door frame, chuckling. He knows. He always knew. Maybe there is only one exit…through the morgue. I can't let Alfred die though. And he's expressed several times that if I go, he goes with me. Damn it! I can't do this! I can't let Alfred get hurt. He's got this beautiful fucking life in front of him. All I have is a collection of broken dreams, teacups, and unicorn memorabilia. _

_It's raining, heaven is crying. I'm fighting for our very soul. I won't let any of this slip away from me. Someone is playing the piano. It's not Alfred. The passion is missing. He's scared. I'm scared too. I will find a way out. No matter the cost, we will be together. Wiser men than I have tried to deduce the meaning of suffering. I will never understand why we couldn't have met in a happier universe. We probably have. I just can't perceive it. I can only perceive what is directly in front of me: human suffering._

_What's the lesson in all of this? I'm going to talk to Alfred, apologize to him. We'll just escape some other way. This institution is the rout of civilization. Every twelve hours they take our vitals. Mine are concerning. These meds…I don't know how to fight this battle, Peter. Take me away, far away from this place. I never want to feel so sluggish and ill again. At least I have him, and he loves me. _

_May you never be labeled as mentally ill…_

_Goodnight Peter_

* * *

**Hero's log: **

Matthew is gone. The police haven't found him. I'm being drawn into a black hole. Disappeared without a trace. My stupid, dependable brother. He's gone. I can tell he's dead. Everyone knows. No one will say it. I can't get out of my bed. Every fiber of my being aches and I plead for mercy. I can't make sense of this. My head hurts from the racing thoughts. Is there no relief?

Arthur had to be dragged from my side. He is meeting with the staff to discuss his release. They will never let him go. I am unaware of anything that could hurt more than this, except losing Arthur. If it wasn't for Arthur, I would've ended it the moment I thought that Matthew was dead. I've tried so hard, too hard, to go someplace, to be someone. In the end, it was all for naught.

For the longest time, I thought the type of person you were made a difference. It doesn't.

Love,

Alfred

* * *

_Dear Peter, _

_Matthew is dead. They found him floating in the river, face down. Just dead. No explanation, no justification, just an end to another innocent existence. Alfred can barely move. It breaks me. Alfred is wasting away in front of me and I am simply powerless to save him. It kills me. I want nothing but our happiness. That's too much to ask; the price is far too high. _

_Personally, if you died, I wouldn't know how to breathe for a while, but then the clock would restart and I'd put on my company manners and the show would go on. Maybe it's just because I've dealt with Death before. Maybe it's just because I'm sick. I'll never know. You're alive though, and so are Alfred and I. If everyone loved the way Alfred and I did, it would be worthless. _

_Death really shouldn't concern us because when we exist death doesn't, and when death exists we don't._

_Goodnight Peter_


	5. Chapter 5

**I got internet access! So here's the second to last chapter of my first published fanfic. I stayed up until 3 am my time to type this up and just finished it. Hopefully the last chapter will be up today also. Thank you to my fans. I cannot believe the feedback I've gotten. Thank you!**

* * *

**Hero's log: **

God, I can't. Why the hell did you let Mattie go? He's my baby brother. There's no more. Arthur is my vicious guardian. Ivan tried to sedate me, the bastard. Arthur slapped him and got sent to solitary confinement for a few hours, but then he started dancing to music no one else could hear and they let him out. His dancing is as beautiful as his angel voice. I believe God dances. Maybe Arthur is a god.

The only thing that matters anymore is saving Artie. I no longer matter. I close my eyes and all I can see is his fucking corpse, Mattie's beautiful halo of blond hair darkened by river water, his violet eyes glassy. Damn it. That boy was a fucking angel. Maybe God needed another angel? You know what? He should have fucking made one. He can do that, you know? That was MY brother. Mine. Why do people die? Why? Someone must've killed Mattie. That's the only explanation. I feel as if I can't come to life. Wake me up. My insides are hollow. I'm not sure how to move forward. Regressing seems the natural option.

When I die, I want to go to heaven, whatever that means. Maybe I'm already dead. Maybe I'm just a projection in a dream. Someone else's mind, consciousness. The map of my reality shrinks rapidly. Real, or not real? Did you want something?

He's never coming back, is he? I don't know anything anymore.

Love,

Alfred

* * *

_Dear Peter, _

_ My poor, sweet Alfred. He is so utterly broken. So am I, by extension. I need my soul back. I love him. God, how I love him. Each piece of him belongs in a small corner of my heart. Each day made me feel more. They are letting Alfred attend Matthew's funeral. The poor soul won't make it through the first minute. God, I understand that you have a divine purpose, a method to your madness, but Matthew? My Alfred's joy of a brother. You sick, twisted fuck. I hate you. _

_ Nothing takes precedence over Alfred, so I cannot, will not, accept his fall. I will save him, no matter the cost. Fuck, his haunted eyes will never close. I can tell that when they do, all he sees is Matthew's corpse, lying cold and battered in a damn river. How undignified an end. I want to die by my own hand. I'm not suicidal. I prefer the Latin phrase: Felo de se. It means felon of himself. But it has a ring that suicide never ever will. _

_ On another note, the fay have told me something too horrible to even comprehend. They must leave me. Ivan's medicines are killing them and me. They can't be around for that. So they're going. Far, far, far away, probably back to England. I feel so numb at the thought. My fay friends, even Flying Mint Bunny…gone. Lord help me. I've never not had them around before. I am so scared. Terrified. I don't know what to say, what to do. I want to scream. _

_ My body is so undeniably weak. They say hell is other people, and to an extent they are right. But the real hell is being trapped in your own body. Your mind is still as active as ever-thoughts still race, dreams still traipse, hopes still surface-but your own damn body can't respond. I used to be so graceful…now I'm a sluggish zombie. Heh, I can't even remember what it's like to be able to wander about freely, just because you want to…_

_I need help._

_Goodnight Peter_

* * *

**Hero's log: **

Everything is liquefying slowly. It's like those paintings with the melting clocks, real enough to be nauseating, surreal enough to be dreamy. Matthew is gone. I must accept it. I won't. I want him back. All I know is that I miss him. Greif is a monster. I suppose that this emotion will eventually be a memory. Until then, I mourn. It's not my fault, is it? I mean….it couldn't be. No, he was killed. There's only one thing that matters now: Arthur. I pray that he's enough.

Ivan is escorting me to Mattie's funeral. I've never been so scared. I won't speak. I won't look at his body. I won't cry. I'm a shell of what I used to be. The world is pain. Life sucks. I am dead inside. Can Arthur revive me? Do what makes you happy because you never know when life is going to be forcibly sucked from your fingers. Mortality is a bitch.

I figured it out. How to save Arthur. I only pray I am strong enough to survive.

I miss my brother.

Love,

Alfred

* * *

_Dear Peter, _

_Alfred is at the funeral. I hope he's okay. Can he be though, after this? Such unspeakable tragedy…I feel, ashamed. I pout and whine over the stupidest of trifles. Alfred lost his brother. My hero has fallen. It's tragic, all of it. Being human is such a weakness. Vulnerability is terrible. It's not confidential that Alfred and I hate Ivan. So why are they leaving Alfred alone with him?_

_All the times I was stupid and put Alfred in danger with Ivan are coming back to haunt me. I need to see him, to see he's okay. Please, just let him be okay. But then, who's determining what okay is…Oh God help us now. It feels like molten lead is being poured down my wind pipe, that's how arduous breathing is when my soul has been split. I'm trying to live without him, but I feel dead. He's my salvation and my Achilles heel. _

_I need a stiff drink and perhaps a smoke. On an interesting side note, I found out why Gilbert gets such cushy treatment despite the fact he might be the maddest of us all. His little brother is 'with' Feliciano, the co-director. Talk about conflict of interest. Anyways, it's all very saucy and hushed. Poor, poor Gilbert. That bipolar lad doesn't stand a chance. And if you believe Feliks, Ivan had his eye on Gilbert. It's pure speculation, but personally, I always thought Ivan looked at all of us the same way. With that predatory glint. _

_I might as well make up something to believe in. _

_Goodnight Peter_

* * *

**Hero's log: **

My bruised cheek hurts... My mother hits hard. My half-soul aches. Where is Arthur? This hospital is scary.

…Ivan hits hard too…

…Goodbye...?

Love,

Alfred

* * *

_Dear Peter, _

_I'm a moron. Alfred is missing. I shouldn't have let him go with Ivan. I ought to be slain. _

_If they don't find him soon…God help whoever stands in my way. _

_Goodnight Peter_

* * *

_Dear Peter, _

_They found him, bruised and bloodied in an alley. Barely passable as human, they said. Not much of a chance he'll make it, they thought. Sexual assault. Ivan is wanted for questioning. Cops are stupid. They think that Ivan isn't the perpetrator. The guilty party. He's fading in and out of consciousness. God, I beg of you, anyone but my Alfred. Take me instead or something, but not my precious Alfred. _

_I have to see my lover. _

_Goodnight Peter_

* * *

**Hero's log:**

I look hideous. Arthur apparently came to see me. The hours he was here, I wasn't. I've been told that he sang until his voice was nonexistent. I had to speak to the cops, told them the truth of Ivan's nature. It wasn't the first time he did...that. It was supposed to be the last. I'm alive for now. The ICU is cold and dark and lonely. I told all. They know about the illicit relationships. They know about Kiku. They know about the over-medicating of patients. They are skeptical. They ought to be, I barely believe it. I lived it.

It's fucking over. They're shutting Hetalia Hellhole down. Arthur is free. I am stuck in this bed for a long time. My legs might not heal right. Walking is overrated anyways. Arthur is going home to his family mansion. He has his father's money, company and a degree to keep him and Peter safe. He has his spirit. If I go, his heart will go on. I've never felt so content.

I think I'll sleep now…

Love,

Alfred

* * *

_**Dear Alfred, **_

_**It's Peter. Arthur misses you. I miss you. Your cats, which Arthur and I were unaware you had, miss you. Wake up. Comas are scary. Arthur is wearing all black 24/7 now. Even his signature accessory, cherry red Dr. Martens is absent. Can you hear us? We're sitting next you. Arthur is singing. Your mom's a bitch. We all hate her. She's so preachy and she 'doesn't know' about keeping you on life support. I spit in her coffee always. **_

_**Arthur gave me the letters he was always writing, the ones he never let you see. They were all about you. He thought you were an oaf at first. Now he needs you. And I need my brother. So come home. Please? **_

_**Hugs, **_

_**Peter Kirkland **_

_**P.S. Arthur is asleep, so I can write this now. If you don't come back and save my brother, you'll have made me a very angry twelve year old…So be warned. **_


	6. Ten Years Later

_**Here it is, the end! I hope that it's satisfactory! Thanks for all the support and I will start a new fanfiction soon. Any suggestions for what it should be about would be so greatly appreciated. Please tell me what you thought! Honesty is the best policy, so even if the ending bores you to tears, tell me!**_

_**-Only in a Dancing God**_

* * *

**Hero's log: **

Today marks the tenth anniversary of our wedding. The first thing I saw when I awoke from my coma was Arthur, bent down on one knee, a platinum band in his hand. His eyes were wet. They looked so beautiful in the dim hospital lighting. I nodded. Yes, that was my first word. My leg braces are not so much of a bother today. Peter made us breakfast then winked and left to go spend the day with Ravis, Toris' adopted brother. We all kept in contact after the closing of Hetalia. Other than Arthur, Toris is my best friend. He and Feliks are going strong. That makes me glad.

We all got our happy endings: I'm a successful architect, married to my soul mate. My soul mate is a happy English teacher at a middle school. He takes his meds in moderation, because he's found that fine line between over and under medicated. Toris is a photographer. Feliks is his number one model. Ivan got ran over by a bus, which I guess wasn't happy for him but is sure as hell was for us. Peter is in school, an undeclared major. He's dating a little girl from Liechtenstein. Gilbert is dead, suicide. But I believe he and Matt are together now, so it's okay.

We spent Arthur's family fortune mostly on a new mental health program for our state. We oversee it. No one there hates it. I am so happy. We all are. I'm finally going to show Arthur these letters today.

He's my only, for always.

Love,

Alfred F. Kirkland-Jones


End file.
